


underwater breathing

by andnowforyaya



Category: B.A.P, K-pop
Genre: Breathplay, Choking, Collars, Consensual Kink, Hand Jobs, Insecurity, M/M, Non-Sexual Submission, Power Imbalance, Submission
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-19
Updated: 2014-05-19
Packaged: 2018-01-25 16:27:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,115
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1655000
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/andnowforyaya/pseuds/andnowforyaya
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>If fans think that Daehyun is clingy during interviews and performances, then they'd lose their minds over how he's like when the cameras are off, when they've got no one watching, nothing to lose.</p>
            </blockquote>





	underwater breathing

If fans think that Daehyun is clingy during interviews and performances, then they'd lose their minds over how he's like when the cameras are off, when they've got no one watching, nothing to lose.

Youngjae looks down at the strip of leather in his hands and tries to even out his breathing. This is stupid. It's going to mess everything up. It started out as a joke. Everything starts out as a joke.

Well, no. That’s just - false information.

It starts when they are on rest. The dorm is quiet in the middle of the day. Himchan had wanted to go shopping and they'd spent the whole day running around Myeongdong dodging photographers and buying the things they'd been coveting. For Daehyun, a new bag. For Youngjae, a case for his iPad and a couple of sweaters.

Himchan and Yongguk and the others are still out, but he and Daehyun have returned to the dorms, wanting to spend the remainder of their rest day _actually resting_ , and they turn on the television and plop onto the couch and Daehyun settles into his customary position with his head in Youngjae's lap, knees drawn up and ankles locked together at one end of the cushions.

It's always been a thing. Before Youngjae it had been Himchan, when Daehyun had first arrived to them like a gift, slender and fidgety and eager to please.

So they watch television together like that, with Daehyun's head in Youngjae's lap, his arms curled against his chest. A show ends and another starts up. They've never really - it's just a thing Daehyun is allowed to do in passing, in short bursts: they are busy, so he hardly ever has time to settle, really, before they are moving again.

But now they are on rest and it's been at least an hour, zoned out in front of the television, and Youngjae looks down and he's got his fingers curled around Daehyun's neck, stroking the pad of his thumb up and down the soft skin under his jaw, and Daehyun looks --

Well, he looks like he's about to fall asleep, really. It's a little more than that, though, just a little. It's half-lidded and dark eyes and the pink flush crawling up Daehyun's neck and into his cheeks and his parted lips, the way he shifts when Youngjae's fingers stop moving, and whines, plaintive, the noise caught in his throat.

"Daehyun," Youngjae whispers, unable to hold it back. Suddenly his mouth is too dry, and he swallows convulsively.

Daehyun hums, low and pleased, turns his head in Youngjae's lap as Youngjae scratches in the space behind his ear.

"Daehyun, my legs are falling asleep."

Coming up is gradual. Daehyun blinks, slow. His hand comes up to rest on Youngjae's knee. His eyelids flutter. Then he's staring at the television with wide eyes and red cheeks and he pushes up from Youngjae's knee and says, “Sorry, sorry. I haven’t been sleeping well. You’re - comfortable.”

He’s on the other end of the couch now, face resolutely turned toward the television, lips pressed together, knees drawn up against his chest, tense.

“It’s okay,” Youngjae says gently. His lap feels cold. He remembers the look on Daehyun’s face just moments before, a little strung out, so relaxed, and instantly misses it. They’ve been on full-steam for so long; he kind of wishes Daehyun would get over himself and just come back and let Youngjae curl his hand over his neck again and graze his thumb against his skin until he falls asleep completely. “If you’re tired, I don’t mind. I just - I don’t mind, anyway.”

Daehyun doesn’t say anything, which is weird. It’s weird. Daehyun always wants to say something. Youngjae doesn’t see what the big deal is - they’ve known each other for so long now, and what seems like two years feels like six in experiences, and they’ve always been okay with the easy way Daehyun reaches out for them with his hands, curves against them with his chest pressed against their backs.

It’s just - a part of what makes up Daehyun. A little touch-starved, maybe. A little needy.

“I’m not tired anymore,” Daehyun says, stiff, so Youngjae retreats. He won’t push, even though he hates the tense line of Daehyun’s shoulders now, the way he’s chewing on his thumbnail. Biting his fingernails used to Youngjae’s bad habit and his alone, but he supposes they’ve all picked up on each other’s mannerisms.

He shouldn’t have said anything. He shouldn’t have stopped stroking Daehyun under his jaw, shouldn’t have jolted them both out of that strange hazy place between thoughts, Daehyun’s skin warm under Youngjae’s thumb.

“Okay,” Youngjae says, and they watch some show like that, spaced apart on the couch, until their bandmates return to the dorm.

.

Maybe that’s not when it really starts. Maybe that’s when Youngjae realizes there’s _something_. Something more they are missing out on. Something so simple and wonderful and - in this idol world where he’s not quite sure what the lines are between and amongst his bandmates - something singularly _theirs._

He misses the feeling acutely, though he’s only felt it once - he and Daehyun alone on the couch, Daehyun’s skin golden and flushed, his lips parted and his eyes unfocused, as Youngjae’s thumb rubbed over his pulse, over and over, the vulnerable flutter of it, the way Daehyun curved into the touch, urging Youngjae to press harder.

But if Daehyun doesn’t want to bring it up then Youngjae won’t bring it up, and their schedules start again.

They start again _fast_.

Their lives are a whirlwind of performances and make-up chairs, photoshoots and radio shows, Yongguk’s smile no longer so easily drawn out, and as promotions continue Youngjae finds himself picking up lines that are supposed to be Daehyun’s, as his teammate succumbs to the frantic pace of their lives, shoulders drawn, a pinch at the corners of his lips.

It’s okay. Youngjae will cover for him, always. Daehyun might mess up occasionally if it’s the other way around, but the thought is there, too.

Daehyun gets sick. If there’s a member to fall ill during promotions, it always seems to be him. Youngjae’s not sure if it’s the climate, or something, or maybe he’s forever been that child. Too skinny, too small, susceptible.

But anyway, he gets sick. Youngjae and Jongup have to cover some of his high notes, and Daehyun is miserable.

They have a string of performances, back to back to back, and when they are not performing Daehyun is guzzling vitamin boosts and medicine, urged to nap by staff who are sorry for the commitments, for their schedules. He crawls into bed, exhausted, and Youngjae can’t remember the last time he’s so wanted to reach over and stroke Daehyun’s hair, to pull Daehyun back into his lap and help him fall into peaceful sleep.

Daehyun coughs, the sound like a rattle in his chest, and he whines, eyes closed in the dark half-light of their room. Youngjae goes into the kitchen and comes back with a steaming mug of honey-lemon-water, tapping Daehyun on the shoulder and helping him sit up so that he can drink it.

“Thank you,” he rasps, appreciatively, his eyes beguiling over the rim of the mug. He puts the mug down and tugs on Youngjae’s hand, silent, but Youngjae knows, somehow, what it is he wants, because Youngjae wants it, too.

Youngjae slides into Daehyun’s bed and sits up against the headboard and lets Daehyun arrange himself on Youngjae’s lap, his head cushioned on Youngjae’s thighs. He places his hand over Daehyun’s neck and just curls his fingers against the skin, and it is amazing how Daehyun responds, how he groans and presses himself tighter against Youngjae, his eyes falling shut. “Please,” he whispers, eyes shut tight, so Youngjae drags his thumb over his pulsepoint, applying pressure, massaging Daehyun’s neck until Daehyun is a loose bag of bones in his lap, until sleep finally comes and Daehyun breathes against him, comfortable.

He looks so relaxed. So content, and Youngjae loves the way he looks there with his hair fanned out around him, and he might fall asleep rubbing circles into Daehyun’s neck, because the next thing he knows he’s awake and Daehyun is staring up at him with huge eyes, and he looks _scared_ , or confused at least, but he doesn’t move and Youngjae thinks it’s because he’s still got his hand over Daehyun’s throat, and it is dark out.

So Youngjae uses his other hand to dip his thumb into the plump meat of Daehyun’s lips, and he sucks in air when Daehyun’s mouth opens for him, when Daehyun pulls Youngjae’s thumb between his teeth, and he is still wide-eyed and glancing up at Youngjae like he is unsure if he is allowed, even as his tongue swipes against Youngjae’s finger, hot and rough.

Youngjae cups his hand under Daehyun’s jaw and pulls him up, up and up, until he can press his lips against Daehyun’s, simple and sweet. He draws them apart and Daehyun’s eyes are glimmering, overwhelmed.

“Please,” Daehyun murmurs, nosing underneath Youngjae’s chin, inhaling along his Adam’s apple.

Youngjae kisses him again, and it is good.

.

So maybe that’s when it starts, and when it shifts.

When at night Daehyun crawls into bed with him and Youngjae sits against his pillows and headboard, and Daehyun curls up, head in his lap, legs pressed along Youngjae’s, arms wrapped loosely around him at his hip and over his thighs. And Youngjae presses his thumb against Daehyun’s pulse and feels it throb, and Daehyun closes his eyes as Youngjae pets him there, his breathing slowing, the tight coil of tension in his belly and between his shoulders seeming to sink away at the simple touch.

And sometimes Youngjae will use his other hand to card his fingers through Daehyun’s hair, or he will press his thumb against the seam of Daehyun’s lips, and Daehyun will take the tip of his thumb into his mouth and suck and hum around it, and Youngjae wants to _push_ , has to remember that this is something he is giving to Daehyun. This is something he is offering because Daehyun wants it, craves it even, with his whole being. He is careful not to take.

It’s good for him, too. It’s good for him to be that anchor, to be the thing that grounds Daehyun into his skin. Daehyun is Youngjae’s to care for, and this is simply - adding to that. Probably. And they don’t put a name to it, don’t give it any more power than it already has, keep it a silent thing behind closed doors.

But sometimes it is frightening, the ease with which Daehyun calms under his thumb when they come back to the dorms, and he is restless, pacing; he’d been flat during practice today, and their vocal coach had ripped him a new one, patience wearing thin towards the end.

“You’ll get it tomorrow, Daehyun,” Youngjae tries. He’s just showered and Daehyun is already sitting in Youngjae’s bed, already has the pillows against the headboard for Youngjae to rest against.

“No,” Daehyun says. “It’s happening more and more and I just - I wish I had Himchan-hyung’s ear. I keep throwing everyone off. I keep throwing _you_ off. I’m sorry.”

“You really hit that note yesterday, though. Remember?”

He sits on his bed. Daehyun’s body is thrumming with nervous energy, like a tiny animal facing down something bigger than they can handle. As soon as Youngjae is propped against the headboard Daehyun turns into him, pressing up against him and nuzzling into his neck. “I think our vocal coach hates me,” he confesses into Youngjae’s skin, and Youngjae shivers.

“He doesn’t,” Youngjae states, because that’s ridiculous, but that is Daehyun, carried off by a thought until it consumes him. He holds his hand against Daehyun’s neck, rubs his thumb into the fluttering pulse he finds there, as Daehyun breathes against him. “He doesn’t hate you, and you don’t keep throwing everyone off, and it’s not like you can sing perfectly all the time, okay?”

Daehyun tenses, whimpering, and Youngjae curses at himself, backtracking. He digs his thumb into Daehyun’s skin and Daehyun exhales, settling against him more comfortably. “I mean, it’s okay that we mess up, sometimes. We’re not, like, angry at you for that, Daehyun.”

Daehyun shudders as Youngjae strokes his thumb against his pulse, as Youngjae hums and tells him that it’s okay, they’re okay, he’s not going anywhere and Daehyun isn’t going anywhere and the group loves him, him and his big mouth and bottomless stomach and propensity for tacky fashion, and Daehyun loops his arms around Youngjae’s shoulders and practically climbs into his lap, and this is okay, too.

Youngjae drops a kiss onto his forehead, Daehyun finally calm cuddled up against him, and he marvels at the tenderness blossoming over him, the weight on his thighs and Daehyun’s beating carotid under his fingers. He wonders if this feeling of peace is anything at all similar to what Daehyun experiences, when they are like this. He hopes it is. He hopes it is even more.

Youngjae is afraid, though. Afraid that this fragile hold he has over Daehyun will break, and he will lose this gift, if he does something wrong.

.

They are curled up on the couch in the dorms and it’s been a rough day for everyone, and Youngjae is sweaty and his limbs are aching and Daehyun looks tired, like he won’t be able to hold himself up in the shower when it’s his turn later.

The others are in their rooms already, either showered or waiting to do so, and it’s just he and Daehyun there in the center of it all, so when Daehyun shifts down Youngjae follows, and then he has Daehyun with his head in his lap and his hand over neck and his thumb pressing and skimming the skin over the beating of warm blood, when Himchan emerges from the bathroom, skin dewy, toweling at his head.

Himchan sees them and smiles, sharp-toothed. And then he laughs, and a heavy pit forms in the middle of Youngjae’s stomach. “You guys are so strange. He’s like your own personal lapdog or something. Ha, does he fetch?”

He’s joking, of course, and good-natured, and for anything else - _anything else_ \- Youngjae would have joined him. Daehyun would have joined him. But he says what he says and Daehyun’s pulse jumps under Youngjae’s fingers, and he has time to think, _no no no no_ , before Daehyun is pulling away, and Youngjae can’t keep him there without digging his fingers into Daehyun’s neck, so he lets him go.

“Hyung, is the bathroom free now?” Daehyun asks. His voice is high and thin, not fully his own yet, and Youngjae is sorry. No, he is embarrassed and devastated.

Himchan turns away with an offhand gesture and Daehyun sighs and gets to his feet, shaky, and doesn’t look at Youngjae at all.

.

For weeks, he tries not to miss it. Tries not to get jealous.

Tries to content himself with the little grazes Daehyun offers him. Sometimes Daehyun will put his head on his shoulder, or he will link fingers with him briefly as they walk down to vocal practice together, but he does this with the others, too, and he has to tell himself not to be possessive.

Daehyun is his best friend, sometimes more, but he’s not _Youngjae’s_.

He misses the feeling of calm that takes over him when Daehyun is snug in his lap about to fall asleep, though. Misses looking down at his face and tracing his finger over his lips, misses waking up allowed to kiss him.

He’s not sure he’s allowed, now. Not when Daehyun pretends to fall asleep before Youngjae does, most times, in his own bed, curled up on his side facing away from him.

Maybe he doesn’t need it anymore, Youngjae thinks. Maybe he doesn’t need _him_ anymore, in particular.

He’s never wanted to be a burden.

So weeks pass, and he tries to let it go.

But he’s so good at reading Daehyun.

There is a flurry of days that don’t seem to go right for anyone, and Daehyun has always taken failure hardest of all, every misstep like an arrow in his chest.

“The photographer hated working with me,” Daehyun says. He’s flat on his back on his bed and Youngjae is about to flick their lights off and climb into his own, but he pauses, looks at him. Daehyun seems smaller - is that possible? He seems like a smaller version of himself, staring past Youngjae with his dark hair still damp and drying on the pillow.

“He was just a difficult guy,” Youngjae says, sitting down. He tugs the covers back and slips into bed, facing Daehyun. They used to talk like this all the time, too, with the bedside table between them. “He didn’t like working with anyone.”

“I made everyone late, though. Since I took so long. We had to push back everyone’s schedule. We didn’t get everything done we were supposed to get done.”

“It happens,” Youngjae sighs, reaching up to turn off the lamp. They are thrown into darkness. Daehyun gasps, and gradually Youngjae’s eyes grow accustomed to the dim grayness of their room, and he sees Daehyun has turned to face him, too, eyes large.

“But it was my fault,” Daehyun says. “He wouldn’t have made it hard on everyone if I hadn’t messed up in the beginning.”

“Daehyun--”

“And then at the radio show, yesterday? I’m sorry. I - I kept forgetting my lines. And going off-script. I just - it’s hard for me to focus lately.”

“It’s fine, Daehyun,” Youngjae tries to say, but his friend is working himself up, a flash flood. Youngjae hisses through his teeth, throwing off his covers and sliding in beside Daehyun in his bed, slow.

Daehyun doesn’t even seem to notice. Youngjae settles in beside him and Daehyun rambles, almost manic, his breath starting to hitch. “And I can’t stay on pitch. God, my voice is _everywhere_. I don’t know how Yongguk-hyung bares it. I’m just - waiting for him to scold me. But I’ve been practicing and it’s fine now during practice. I don’t know what it is about being live and recorded - I just. Can’t.”

“Oh,” Youngjae murmurs. “My poor Daehyun. You’ve been keeping this all inside.”

His thumb is brushing over the familiar warm skin of Daehyun’s neck, and Daehyun closes his eyes, exhaling.

“And I want you to touch me,” Daehyun says, a little slower as Youngjae starts to apply pressure. “I want you to touch me like this. But it’s weird, and you don’t have to. You shouldn’t. You’re so - amazing, Youngjae.”

Daehyun sighs into him, into his thigh, tension rolling from his shoulders, as Youngjae pets him, over his throat, under his jaw, scratches behind his ears. “My poor Daehyun,” Youngjae is murmuring. “It’s okay - everything’s going to be okay. We’re working so hard. You’re working so hard. And we see that. Mistakes happen, and you’re doing so well.”

Daehyun groans, his pulse slowing under Youngjae’s careful touches, and when Youngjae looks again Daehyun’s lips are parted just slightly, and his eyes are half-lidded and he is lazily dragging his fingers over Youngjae’s thighs.

“Come up and let me kiss you, Daehyun,” Youngjae whispers, heart racing in his chest, because he’s missed this so much, and he _wants_ so much, and he’s been hoping all this time for Daehyun to come back to him like this.

He comes up, languid. Youngjae taps Daehyun’s hip and he straddles Youngjae across his thighs, and then Daehyun brings Youngjae’s hand back to his throat, letting it rest there, as he pushes forward and kisses Youngjae, a tentative peck.

“Perfect,” Youngjae praises, running the palm of his hand up and down Daehyun’s neck, letting his hand roam behind and cup Daehyun by his nape, though he keeps his thumb over his pulse, as Daehyun’s breath skips. “Again,” he says.

Daehyuns leans forward and seals his lips to Youngjae’s, tilting his head to the side to push closer, licking at Youngjae’s lips to urge them open. He bites at Daehyun’s bottom lip, worrying it between his teeth, then licking over the tender skin, as Daehyun gasps into his mouth. They kiss for a while, longer than they have in the past, and when Youngjae’s dick jumps he’s surprised, and his hand closes tighter around Daehyun’s throat.

Daehyun does not pull back. He surges forward with vigor, pressing his lips against Youngjae’s and sucking on his tongue with a moan, and Youngjae can feel that Daehyun is hard, too, when their erections brush together through their clothes.

Youngjae drops his hand from Daehyun’s neck to pull him flush against his body, chests pressed together, but Daehyun whines, hands reaching down to find Youngjae’s again and guiding him to his throat. “Please,” Daehyun says. “Please, just a little bit. Please, Youngjae.”

And Youngjae - doesn’t really know what he’s doing, but this is what Daehyun wants, so he squeezes, and Daehyun swallows back a breath and keeps kissing him. Youngjae can feel the desperate flutter of Daehyun’s pulse under his palm, and the thought of all that blood and oxygen lying powerless under his hand, that Daehyun asked him for this, makes his dick throb.

Daehyun grinds against him, and Youngjae tightens his grip, and he says, “You’re beautiful, you’re perfect. I’d give you anything you asked for,” and then Daehyun is groaning into his mouth, gasping heavily, as he comes inside his briefs.

Youngjae holds his breath. He’s still hard, and Daehyun is heavy on top of him as he lets his hand fall from his neck, as Daehyun descends from the high Youngjae has just given him. He brings Daehyun’s forehead to his chest, rubbing a soothing hand in circles at the small of Daehyun’s back, because Daehyun hiccups, and his breathing stutters.

“Holy shit,” Daehyun whispers. “What the fuck. Just happened. What did we just do?”

“Shh,” Youngjae says, still holding him. He wills his erection to go away. Thinks about anything other than the way Daehyun had groaned against him, transcendent.

“Youngjae,” Daehyun says, and his voice is squeaky and thin and Youngjae brings his hand up again to scratch behind Daehyun’s ear, hoping that will help. “Youngjae, I just got off on you _choking_ me.”

“I know,” he says, clenching his teeth. “Wasn’t it wonderful?”

It’s the right thing to say. Daehyun freezes for a moment but then whines against his chest, face warming, and he mutters, embarrassed, his fingers coming forward to tap over the hard length of Youngjae’s dick, “You liked it, too?”

“Obviously,” Youngjae sighs, hips jumping when Daehyun scratches with a fingernail under the head.

“Can I - Can I touch you, Jae?”

“ _Yes_ ,” Youngjae says with relief, and Daehyun reaches behind the elastic of Youngjae’s pajamas, wraps his soft hands around Youngjae’s dick.

“I knew you wouldn’t hurt me,” Daehyun whispers. “I trust you.”

.

So anyway, Youngjae looks down at the strip of leather in his hands and tries to even out his breathing. It's stupid. He's going to mess everything up. They've been okay, perfect, synced up so well for the past few months. No hiccups. He's just --

He's seen the way Daehyun absently presses his palm over his own neck, when he's being filmed, when he's asked a question off guard, when he's ducking his head because he's done something embarrassing or wrong, and Youngjae knows - he _knows_ that Daehyun is thinking of him, that Daehyun is thinking of Youngjae's fingers there instead, the comforting pressure, and he wants Daehyun to know he's thinking of him, too, that he wishes he could just reach over and touch him where he wants to be touched, but that would be _weird_ on camera, in public. Their fans would see the dopey loving look on Youngjae's face and they'd see Daehyun's blissed-out features and it would be _weird_.

And it's not like Daehyun can wear the stupid thing in his hands, anyway - not in public. It's an old leather belt that is worn and soft, one of Youngjae's that he's cut down. He pushed a tack through the leather to make a small hole he worked larger, for the buckle. It should fit nicely around Daehyun's neck.

So he hopes - he hopes this isn't crossing some unspoken line, that Daehyun won't be too weirded out. He hopes Daehyun will just understand what it means, that he wants to give him this, too. Hell, maybe Daehyun will understand what it is Youngjae is trying to tell him even better than Youngjae himself.

He opens the door to their room and takes a few steps, stopping short to close the door. He gasps when he sees Daehyun already inside, the beds pushed together and his prone form beneath the white sheets.

Daehyun turns his head on the pillow to face Youngjae and smiles, sweet, and it's so stupid what Youngjae has in his hands. He hasn't thought this through.

He can pinpoint the moment that Daehyun sees the strip of leather, because his eyes narrow and then widen, and he pushes himself up on his elbows on the bed, covers sliding from his shoulders. He's not wearing a shirt, and Youngjae wonders if he's wearing anything at all.

"Youngjae?" Daehyun asks, uncertain, his voice small and searching, and Youngjae feels horrible, like his stomach is crawling around inside of him.

The leather strap is warm from his worrying hands. He holds it out, apologetic. "Sorry. I wasn't thinking. This is - dumb." He embellishes, because he is panicking. "I thought it could be nice. I see the way you touch yourself - your neck, I mean. And I wanted - I thought you might want - a reminder. That I'm thinking of you, too. It's supposed to be a c-collar. It's so - stupid, oh my god. I'm sorry."

"Jae," Daehyun says again, his voice fuller, and when Youngjae looks up at him his large eyes are shining, and hopeful, and he's sitting up on the bed, back onto his heels, and Youngjae can see that he's hardening under his little briefs, as the covers slip away. "You wanna put a collar on me?" he asks, licking his lips, and Youngjae feels all the uncertainty flush out of him in that single movement, in the look in Daehyun's eyes.

"Yeah," he says, voice rough, stepping forward with renewed confidence. "I do. I want you to feel like - like I'm thinking about you, like you're mine. You don't - have to wear it."

"I want to try it on," Daehyun whispers. A furious blush rises to his cheeks. "Please."

Youngjae almost trips over himself clambering to the bed and onto it, his weight making the mattress creak, as Daehyun sits on his heels, chin tucked to his chest, eyes glittering and dark, waiting. He settles behind him, in his pajamas, admiring the smooth expanse of Daehyun's sloped shoulders and back, and holds his breath, heart hammering in his chest, as he loops the leather around Daehyun's neck and holds it together at his nape.

It’s a good fit. He’d measured well. He can fit two fingers under the strap when the buckle is in place. When the leftover leather slips under the metal and through to the other side, and Youngjae pulls it, tight, and it jerks against Daehyun’s skin, Daehyun exhales, “ _Ah_ ,” and sinks back against Youngjae’s chest.

“Is it too tight,” Youngjae murmurs with his lips pressed to Daehyun’s temple, the other boy cradled in the safety of his arms. He can’t help but look down at the stark black stripe against Daehyun’s skin, can’t help tugging on it with hooked fingers, watching how it digs into Daehyun’s throat, his other arm wrapped around Daehyun’s middle.

Daehyun groans, one hand holding Youngjae’s against his belly and the other covering the wandering fingers at his neck. “It’s perfect,” Daehyun whimpers. “Thank you.”

And he really does sound grateful, so grateful, and he’s hard and turning his body into Youngjae’s as Youngjae pulls on the collar, pulls down so he can rub at the skin where the leather meets him. “It looks good on you,” he tells him, and Daehyun mewls. "So good," Youngjae says. "You've been so good lately. I wanted to show you how much I appreciate that."

Youngjae kisses him, Daehyun nestled in his lap, traces his fingers up Daehyun's spine and swallows the shiver between his teeth, and then he loops his fingers under the collar and tightens his hand into a fist.

Daehyun's breath hitches beautifully, his body jumping, and his mouth falls open wider for Youngjae, his hand clutching at the thin fabric of Youngjae's shirt above his collarbone.

" _Jae_ ," he gasps brokenly.

"I got you," Youngjae promises with another press of his lips. "I'll take care of you."

And he will. He wants to. He wants Daehyun to know what he means to the group, what he means to _him_ and he wants to keep Daehyun here in his lap, on the edge of something, and he wants to be allowed to touch him the way he does, forever. Youngjae needs this, is blessed to have this, is so fucking _honored_ that Daehyun chose him, of all people, to see just how lovely he is when he's about to break apart.

"I love you," he realizes against Daehyun's skin, and it's like a dam breaks, and he says the words, over and over, hoping they will sink in, as he reaches down with his other hand to fit his palm over Daehyun's dick. He keeps his hand fisted at the collar, lets Daehyun shift again to tuck his face against Youngjae's chest as Youngjae strokes him through the fabric, and his shirt dampens as Daehyun breathes against him, in short, hitched sighs. "I love you," he says again, just to make sure Daehyun hears him.

Daehyun makes a pitiful noise, and he raises his face just enough to lick at Youngjae's throat, sealing his lips over his pulse and sucking lightly. Youngjae pulls at Daehyun's briefs, dragging them down, and Daehyun raises his hips enough for Youngjae to slip them past the curve of his ass, until his dick pops free of the elastic, and he gasps against Youngjae's throat.

Everything is wet and perfect, as Youngjae slicks up Daehyun's dick with the pre-come leaking from the tip. He carries Daehyun with him and murmurs his appreciation, his love, as Daehyun cries and shudders and comes undone.

.

(In the morning they find that the collar fits snug looped twice around Daehyun's wrist.)

.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks [darkfire_382](https://twitter.com/darkfire_382) for reading this over for grammar :)
> 
> i dunno what this is i just wanted to write about collars.
> 
>  
> 
> [writing](http://andnowforyaya.tumblr.com/)  
> [twitter](https://twitter.com/andnowforyaya)


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